


(Some People Say) You Can Never Go Home Again

by chicklette



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: And he doesn't cope with them well, Hurt/Comfort, I had to fix the ending of CA:CW, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers has feelings, Stucky - Freeform, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wanda Is A Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette
Summary: Steve lets himself be held, lets the thick arm embrace him as he presses his face into Bucky’s neck.  “I don’t want to do this without you,” Steve says, not caring that he’s getting Bucky’s shirt wet, not caring about anything more than holding on and never letting go.  “Please don’t make me do this without you.”Bucky goes back into cryo after CA:CW.  Steve does not win at coping.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge, huuuuuuuge thanks to venis_envy for beta-ing this. I took all of her commas (but only because I needed them). I'm so grateful! (I think it goes without saying that all remaining errors are mine. I never could leave well enough alone.)

Steve stands in the cryo room, watching as a tech fastens a cap onto the end of Bucky’s shoulder.  The wiring has been smoothed off, and the circuits that allowed biofeedback have been deactivated, eliminating any sensations from the arm.  (Steve was sick when he’d realized that all those frayed wires were acting like live nerve endings – that Bucky had basically had his arm hacked off all over again and had been wordlessly enduring the pain of it from the time Tony pulled it off to the time the lab techs lost their collective minds upon seeing it.  When he’d realized what had happened, Steve calmly walked to the nearest waste bin and vomited until there was nothing left inside of him.  When Bucky’d asked if he was done with the hysterics, Steve turned and dry-heaved another three times before sitting on the floor next to the bin, trying to think about anything other than the hurt Bucky’d endured.)

“If you would give us the room,” T’Challa says.  The lab techs and lead doctor all nod and go, leaving only Sam, Bucky, Steve and T’Challa in the room.

“You will be safe, here,” T’Challa says, and Bucky shakes his hand.

“I appreciate this,” Bucky says.  “I don’t want anyone else to be able to use me.  I have to be able to trust my own mind."

T’Challa nods and pats Bucky’s arm.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to it.”  He turns to Steve.  “Just let Dr. Ororo know when you’re ready.  She’ll complete the final steps.”

Steve nods and watches T’Challa leave.

“You sure about this, man?” Sam asks for the tenth time that day.  “I know some good doctors.  We can work through this without making you a Bucksicle again.”

“Such a wise guy,” Bucky says, and it hits Steve in the gut, hearing Bucky sound like Bucky.  “This is what I want,” he says, and Sam gives him a sad smile.

“Alright, fair enough.  Catch you on the other side, I guess.”  He shakes hands with Bucky and heads for the door, offering Steve a pat on the shoulder on his way out.

“He’s a good man,” Bucky says, watching Sam leave.

“Yeah, he is,” Steve says.

“You could do worse.  You don’t owe me nothin’, you know.”

“Don’t.  Buck, don’t.”  Steve can feel the tears that want to come in his chest, trying to claw their way up his throat until they can spill out of his eyes.  For the last two years, Bucky had been the first thought in Steve’s head when he woke up in the morning, and the last thought in his head when he fell asleep.  This world is loud and busy and full of fighting, and Steve can get behind that, he can get behind doing the right thing.  He's adjusting.

But every time Steve looks at Bucky’s face, he sees home.  How do you let your home go?  What do you do when home doesn’t want you?

Bucky gives him a wry smile.  “Alright, Stevie.  Just – promise me something?  Something happens while I’m under, don’t you feel bad about it.  You don’t gotta live like–”

“Come on, Buck, stop it.”  Steve had ached for exactly one man in his life, and Sam’s easy smile and warm skin weren’t going to change that.  Nothing could.  Steve knew that now.  It was a bitter taste at the back of his throat that Bucky didn’t feel the same.

“Yeah, alright.  Never were happy unless you were miserable.”

Steve startles at that, because, God, how could someone know him so well and not at all?  Steve had known happiness.  Known it in those months when he and Bucky finally stopped pretending they were huddling for warmth under thin winter blankets and admitted what they were to each other, what they had always been to each other.  With Bucky’s mouth pressed against his skin, Steve had whispered his love and Bucky had echoed it, in words, in kisses, in fingertips that touched him just so.

They’d been stupid with it, stupid with the need to get home, close the door and let their bodies say what their mouths couldn’t, for however long the night would last.  There were lazy Sunday mornings when Bucky slept and Steve drew him, the way the sunlight laced through the dark waves of his hair, and illuminated the three freckles on the back of his neck, a constellation that Steve never could help but map with his tongue.  Friday nights when they were both a little boozy and played fast and loose with the rules they’d made to protect themselves.  Tuesdays and Wednesdays and all the other days when they were just happy to come home to one another, the shelter of the others arms, knowing that they loved, and were loved.  All those days crowded Steve’s mind.

“That’s not true,” Steve says, his mind flush with memories that are decades old or years old, but that feel fresh, still cutting at his heart when he lets himself think about them.

He reaches out for Bucky and Bucky takes a small step back, his eyes all but begging Steve to let him go.

They don’t have to have the conversation.  Steve always knew how to read Bucky.  He guesses he always will.

He lets his eyes roam over Bucky’s body again.  Takes in the size of him, the bulk of his chest and arm, the strong thighs and square hand with thick, blunt fingers.  His gut coils with want, not because Bucky’s beautiful – Bucky has always, always been beautiful – but because he’s Bucky.

“Listen,” Bucky says, and Steve braces himself.  He knows goodbye when he hears Bucky saying it.  “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Bucky says, and Steve swallows back the tears.

“How can I?  You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve blinks hard and looks down.   _Don’t do this, don’t do this!_ It’s all he can think.

“Punk,” Bucky says and Steve can’t take it anymore.

“Don’t do this,” he says, hot tears wetting his lashes.  “Bucky, please.”

“Stevie, don’t,” Bucky says, bringing his arm around to hold Steve.

Steve lets himself be held, lets the thick arm embrace him as he presses his face into Bucky’s neck.  “I don’t want to do this without you,” Steve says, not caring that he’s getting Bucky’s shirt wet, not caring about anything more than holding on and never letting go.  “Please don’t make me do this without you.”

Bucky brings his hand up to Steve’s head, stroking and soothing.

“Come on, Stevie.  We both know this is for the best.”

An echo of the words Bucky said all those years ago, before he’d headed off to war, leaving Steve behind.  Steve can see Bucky in his mind, his starched uniform and his hat set just so, as Steve raged about the unfairness of it – Bucky fighting while Steve cowered in the shadows.  

It’s for the best, he’d said, and Steve knew it was bull then as much as he did now.

It’s for the best, he’d said, and then pushed Steve toward Peggy in a pub in London, before getting roaring drunk and passing out not in the room he shared with Steve, but in the common room that housed rest of the Commandos, sleeping it off on Dugan’s cot, Dugan sleeping on the floor.  He’d avoided being alone with Steve after that, and a few short weeks later, he was gone.

The anger spikes hard into his gut and Steve pushes Bucky away.  “God damn you,” he says, and turns away.

“Stevie.  Steve!”

“He’s ready for you,” Steve says to the techs, pushing his way through the door.   He pushes past Sam, hears his friend call out, and breaks into a jog.  Fuck Bucky Barnes and fuck everything about him.  Just – fuck him.

.

Having the resources of Stark Industries was a luxury Steve had taken for granted.  The weight bags in the Wakanda Palace gym are inferior and after the fifth one blows out, Steve stops using them.  Still, it leaves him with nothing to punch.

He runs, longer and harder than ever before.  He runs until he streams with sweat, until his shoes wear thin, until his thighs ache with the effort, and then he runs some more.  Sam goes out with him the first few times, but he has no chance of keeping up, and Steve knows it.   Steve wants it that way.

After Sam drops out of their running dates, Steve takes to the water, swimming in the Nyanza against the tide, sometimes kicking with everything he has, other times stilling his legs and forcing his arms, chest and back to do the work of carrying him across the water.

He forces himself to show up for meals, but the food tastes like nothing, despite Sam’s raves.  Wanda comments that Steve’s lost weight, and Lang takes to stopping by Steve’s rooms with junk food – buttery popcorn and red vines, insisting that they share over a movie.

Despite what Bucky might think, Steve’s not stupid.  He sees what they’re all doing.  He just can’t bring himself to care.

.

It’s hard to track the passage of time without seasons, and all of the seasons seem the same in Wakanda.  After what seems like days but might have been months, Nat shows up in a Quinjet, with a smile and a mission.  There’s an old Hydra base that’s recently become active at the Crimea border.  With the current border dispute, Avengers, either current or former, couldn’t exactly show up and knock on the door, so Nat was calling in a solid you owe me.

Steve’s ready to go the moment she touches down.  Sam will always back Captain America’s play, so he’s in.  Wanda wants to stay behind, but doesn’t think it would be fair.  Scott and Clint are up for anything that might buy them a return ticket to the US, something that Nat’s working on.

The mission goes well, with the team able to shut down the base and extract information quickly and with only three minor explosions.  Nat pulls the data files and nods at Steve with a soft smile.  Anything that might help Bucky is for the good in his book.   It sets the tone for future missions, and before he knows it, Cap’s suiting up (a vibranium laced material that wasn’t as strong as the shield, but that provided good mobility and excellent protection) with regularity.  He misses the shield.

(“He still has it,” Nat says, on their third mission together.  “It’s in the vault, but he’s repaired it.  That’s got to mean something, right?”  Steve says nothing in response.)

The success of the mission opens the door for others, and soon Nat’s flying the Quinjet in and out of Wakanda with regularity.

It’s not until the seventh mission that things start going sideways.

Cap stumbles on a landing, leaving Falcon vulnerable.  Wanda catches the surface-to-air grenade and redirects it, but it’s close.  Steve apologizes, Sam says no need, but he and Nat exchange worried glances once they’re headed back to base.

The eighth mission results in Falcon flying an unconscious, injured Cap out of a forest while Hawkeye provides cover, levitated by the Scarlet Witch.  Widow burns down the scene with Ant Man’s help, and Black Panther drives the getaway tank.   When Steve wakes up two days later, Nat grounds him.  His calorie deficit was too great, she says.  His body is literally eating itself.

She’s mid-rant when Steve turns and walks away.  His chest hurts from…something.  Doesn’t matter.  He’s going back to bed.

He sleeps for two days _(it’s five)_ , and when he wakes, he makes a point of eating full caloric loads in full view of everyone.  It’s hard.  Food doesn’t taste good, and he gets bored mid-chew.  He finds himself forcing the food down, finds himself smiling and laughing with his friends, finds himself at the gym running on the treadmill and lifting the weights and rebuilding himself the way he knows he should.

What he doesn’t see are the stares.  The way Scott can hardly stand to look at him when he smiles one of those macabre, fake smiles.  “He’s like, Alien Cap,” Scott says, and Clint just shakes his head.

He doesn’t see Sam, the way he goes to visit Bucky almost every day, says the same three words to the man who’d stolen his hero, his best friend, right out from under him.  Doesn’t see the venom that Sam pours into those words, wishing they were a dagger that he can plunge into Bucky’s chest.

“I hate you,” he says.  Then walks away.

He doesn’t see Wanda, how she sits in the hallway outside of his room, waits for his bad dreams to start, and then eases them away before they can take hold.

“He is killing himself, Tony,” Natasha says, her words low and vicious and not meant for Steve’s ears.  He doesn’t want them to think of him like that.  He doesn’t want them talking about him, doesn’t want them worrying.  He’s fine. _(You’re already dead.)_  He turns away from Nat, skirts past the cryo room _(not there, never go there)_ and out to water, ready to work himself until he drops.  Maybe….

_(Don’t do anything stupid)_

_(You know it’s for the best)_

The captain of a small fishing boat sees him go under and fishes him out of the Nyanza.  T’Challa receives him at the docks, his young eyes sad behind thick, dark lashes.

.

“Maybe you need to get drunk,” Nat says, and hands him a bottle of high octane vodka.

Steve pushes it away and retreats to his rooms.  He keeps a sketchbook open on the table, and anyone stopping by would think he’s doing something.  What does it matter if he isn’t?

.

Three nights later he finds the vodka and downs most of it in minutes.  He fights the urge to vomit and waits for the feeling to kick in – the one he remembers from all those years ago, when he and _(don’t say his name)_ some punk would head over to Delancey’s bar, suck down a couple of glasses of suds and start to feel like anything was possible, like the world might just be alright.

He doesn’t mean to end up at Wanda’s door, choking back tears.   _(Why can’t you fix him?  Please just fix him, Wanda, please.)_  His grief is a wave she hasn’t felt since Pietro died.  She feels herself sliding down with him, sinking into the despair that consumes him.  In his mind, she sees Bucky the way he’d been once, young and vibrant, larger than life.  She feels Steve’s heart, how it swelled when Bucky smiled, even if it wasn’t aimed at him.   _(Steve just wants to be in his orbit.)_

The opportunity with the Valkyrie, how it needed to go down and that split second decision – he could survive the fall if he bailed out soon enough.  He didn’t have to go down with the ship.  But he could. _(He did.)_

The moment on the expressway, seeing Bucky alive, fighting Bucky, god, how it felt to see him so vibrant and full of purpose.  Steve could stay alive if it meant fighting Bucky, if it meant somehow getting him back.   _(Come on, Buck, you know me.)_

It’s a different grief, what he felt when Bucky fought him in Budapest.  Steve was fighting to bring him in, but he’d fight to keep him free, too.  He could live with knowing that Bucky was out there, somewhere.  All he had to do was find him.  All he had to do was get into Bucky’s head, help him see that he wasn’t guilty of any crime, not guilty of anything, anything at all.

And Bucky fighting at his side, god, it was better than when they were leading the Howling Commandos because Bucky was fast and lethal and he could do anything.  He didn’t need Steve (you know he never needed you) and Steve didn’t have to fear for him.  Steve could stand back and watch him go.  The pride he felt – Wanda knew that pride, felt it watching Pietro, knowing that he could do anything, and she could have his back because he would have hers and together they were unstoppable _(together)._

 _It’s for the best,_ he’d said, like a knife in Steve’s gut.

 _It’s for the best,_ and the pain, cutting, cutting sharp.

 _It’s for the best_ _(because he never really…never wanted me that way)._

It’s for the best.

_(Yeah, pal?  Best for who?)_

Wanda holds Steve and Steve holds Wanda and their grief circles and redoubles and becomes an ocean pulling them down, the air filling their lungs, the blood strumming through their veins. The soft glow of red light leaking out from under her door is the only sign that the people inside are dying.

.

“Fuck!”

“Okay, let’s get the emo twins apart.”

“They won’t let go.”

“Wanda? Wanda, it’s Vision.  Come on, love.”  And then, “I can’t do what she does.  I can’t get inside of her head like that.”

“Tony, we have to try.”

“I know, I know.  I did the math, Banner says it should be fine.”

“Should be?”

“Because the alternative is so much better?”

“You could fry his brain.”

“Wilson! Again, the alternative is so much better.  I’m his friend – this won’t hurt him.”

“Oh, you’re his friend? Like you were in Siberia?”

“Right now I’m the only friend he’s got.”

“You’re so arrogant, god.  How can you even say that to me?”

“You guys, the light is…it’s dimming.  I don’t think they have much time.”

“You’re lucky I’m arrogant!  You’re lucky I’m arrogant and successful and smart enough to engineer–”

“It’s done.”

Nat sets an empty syringe on the table as Wanda and Steve fade to unconsciousness.

.

When Steve wakes up, everything on him hurts.  He turns over and goes back to sleep.

.

“Can you just let me apologize?”

“I’m sorry, no.  I don’t feel she’s up to visitors.”

“Vision, I’m sorry.  I don’t know how it happened.  I didn’t mean - I need to tell her that.”

“You will.  But not now.”

“You -" Steve stops, evaluates his words, then swallows what he was about to say.  “I’m glad she has you,” he says, before walking away.

.

“I brought presents,” Tony says, before sitting down across from Steve.  The sketchbook is open, a couple of half-formed lines pulsing out across the page.  A whole lot of nothing.

“There’s this big metal shield, star right at the center.  Looks like something you might use.  Oh and look,” he says, dropping an envelope on the table.  “A pardon.  With your name on it.”

Steve runs his fingertips over the envelope but doesn't pick it up.

“Some kind of killer lizard creatures invaded the tunnels of Los Angeles.  The Avengers were conspicuously absent, leading to an inquiry, leading to public outcry against the accords.  Pepper worked out the details.”

Steve’s jaw drops.  “Tony, you–”

“It was fine.  Vision and I were monitoring the situation, and stepped in when the time was right.  No civilian casualties.”

“This’ll mean a lot to Clint and Scott.  The others.  Thank you, Tony.”

“Alright,” Tony says, standing.  “So what do you say you pack your duds and head on over to the airport?  Maria’s got the quinjet all fired up.  I hear it’s falafel night at Stark Tower.”

“I wish I could.”

“You can.  Chop chop!”

“I – you should know I spoke to T’Challa.  He’s had a second cryo unit made.  Maybe I’m just not cut out for this century.”

“And maybe you’re being a little overdramatic because your murderbot boyfriend is a popcicle.”

“Tony–”

“Cap, come on.  We need you, buddy.  You want me to say I was wrong?  Okay, I’ll say that.  Just get on the damn jet.”

“I’m staying here.”

“Dammit, Cap, would you think about someone else for a change?”

“Maybe I’m thinking about myself for the first time in decades!”

“You owe–”

“I don’t owe you anything!”  Steve stands, paces to the window, then turns back to Tony.  “My mind’s made up.  I’m not leaving without him.”

“Fine.  We’ll just – call us when you change your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind, Tony.  Get someone else to hold the damn shield.  And you never said you were wrong.”

“Well that’s because I wasn’t.  But I’d still say it if it would get you on the plane.”

Steve means to smile, but it misses his face.

“It won’t.”

Tony stands in front of him, puts his hand out.  Steve takes it, and pulls him into a hug.

“Won’t be the same without you.”

“Keep an eye on Sam?”

“You got it, Cap.”

.

“You’re really going to do this, huh?”  Nat sets her cup of coffee down on Steve’s coffee table.

“I can’t go back.”

“No, but you could…stay.”

Steve shrugs.  “There’s nothing for me here, Nat.  I’m not Captain America anymore, and I can’t rattle around this palace waiting.”

“So don’t.  Go teach kindergarten or get a dog or figure out who you want to be when you grow up.”

“I already did that, remember.  They still have my picture in the history books.”

“And now you get to be someone new.”

“I know who I am, Nat.  I just don’t fit here, not without–”

“There’s no guarantee that he’ll be who he was.”

“I know that.  I know.”  Steve walks over to Nat, hugs her. “Someday, you’ll come wake me up.  You can be the prince in the fairy tales.”

Nat wriggles out of his arms.  “Yeah?  You gonna sleep through my lifetime too, Steve?  How many women will you kiss on their deathbeds?”  Her anger feels nice, he thinks.  It’s nice that she cares.  He wishes it was enough.

“That’s not fair.”

“Who said anything is fair?”

“Take care of Sam?  I think he’s got a crush on you.”

“I’m not the one he has a crush on.”

Steve shrugs.  “Still – take care of him?”

Nat nods.  “Well, I hate goodbyes, so if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to be someplace else now.”

Steve gives her a sad smile and reaches out hug her again.  “It’s not forever,” he says.  “Nothing’s forever.”

Nat doesn’t say anything, just closes the door behind her.

.

The glass is cool against his fingertips.  It’s the first time he’s been here, the first he’s seen Bucky since that day.  He looks good.  He looks like he’s sleeping.  There’s a little bit of blue frost around the edges of the glass.  It gives Bucky’s face a tinge of blue.  Steve wonders if it will hurt.  He wonders how long he’ll be under, and decides it doesn’t matter.  He can’t stay here anymore.  He knows that.  All he’s got left is goodbye.

“Seems like…seems like every time I turn around, you’ve got some reason to walk away from me, Buck.  You had two years to come find me.  Two years.  But you didn’t.  I thought maybe – but you were lucid, in Bucharest.  You knew who I was. You just didn’t want me.

“And we finally get here, after all of it, and the first thing you want is to go away again, and maybe I’m thinking, maybe I’m seeing that you’ve had enough.  If that’s true, if that’s – I want you to know that that’s okay, Buck.  I want you to know that even if it wasn’t for you, even if I wasn’t…

“You were everything, to me.  I just needed you to know that, pal.  ‘Cause I’m seeing that this, that this – it looks like this is the end of the line.”

.

The night before he goes into cryo, Steve doesn’t sleep.  He puts the keys to his Harley in an envelope for Sam, along with a letter that doesn’t say enough, and leaves it on the table.  He hopes Sam will understand.  This is the best he can do.

.

When Steve was a kid, Bucky’s folks had taken them and the girls out to the beach one day.  Bucky’s Ma packed them a picnic lunch, and Steve’s Ma had sent along a plate of brownies.  The girls played on the shore, but Steve and Bucky swam out to where the waves rolled in, gentle and calm.  The water was cold and the sun was hot and when he floated on his back, the only thing that Steve knew was the glug of the water around him, the beat of the sun on his skin and the far off noises of what felt like another world.

Bucky’d reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand, and together, the two of them floated on the tide, side by side.  Steve remembered looking over at Bucky, seeing the freckles across the bridge of his nose, his soft blue eyes and Bucky’s crooked smile, and feeling Bucky’s wrinkled fingers against his own.  He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, and he and Bucky’d only been friends for a year or so at that point, but Steve remembers not just the perfection of the moment, but he remembers knowing it was perfect.  He remembers thinking that, if the world ended tomorrow, he’d at least had one perfect day, where nothing hurt and he wasn’t sick, where nothing bad happened and there was nothing more he could ask for in good faith.

Steve focuses on that memory.  He puts everything he has into recalling the smell of the ocean, briny and sharp, the chill of the water across his back and the heat of the sun against his face and the feeling of peace that washed over him, floating, tethered only by his best friend.

It’s the last thing he thinks before the cryo takes hold.

.

“Hey Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Race ya!”

Steve laughs, knowing he’ll lose and that Bucky Barnes is a damn dirty cheater, but he chases after his best friend anyway.

.

“What’d’ya think’s out there, Stevie?”  They’re lying on their backs on the roof of their building.

“Stars and more stars and, see that one – the bright one?  That’s a planet.  There’s whole other planets out there, Buck.”

“Think we’ll ever go there?  Other planets?”

“Sure.  Your Pop says by the time we’re old enough to drive, they’re gonna have flying cars.”

“Man, flying cars.  Hey, do you think–”

“Hold up, Buck, they’re about to start.”

“Oh man, did you see that?”

“See it? That was aces!”

“Happy Birthday, Stevie.”

.

“C’mon, Steve.  Maggie don’t wanna go if Ann can’t come too.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Gorgeous, Stevie.  I wouldn’t do you wrong.  I been waitin’ a month for this date.”

“Ugh.  Buck, come on, you said the last one was the last one.”

“I know, Stevie, but this dame – you’re gonna love her.  ‘Sides, I told her all about ya, how they’re gonna put your pictures in a museum one day.  She says she ain’t ever met a real artist before.”

“Yeah, okay, fine.  But you’re buying the drinks.”

“I know, pal, I got ya.  Here – put this in your pocket.”

“Buck, no – I was just joking about the drinks.”

“Nah, you’re doin’ me a solid.  Now you can look like the big spender.”

“Buck–”

“Trust me, Stevie, dames love this stuff.”

.

“Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.”

“Thing is, you don’t have to.  I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

.

“Christ, Stevie, you’re freezing.  Budge up.”

“M‘fine.  ‘S’okay.”

“Okay, yeah right.  Here, let me just–”

“You’re warm.  ‘S’nice.”

“Yeah?  I – I got ya, Stevie.”

.

“Oh, god, oh, Christ, yes – yes, oh yes, please, please Buck. Oh my god.”

“Yeah?  I got ya, Stevie, I got ya.”

.

“Cheer up, ya punk.  Even if they let you in, which good on them they ain’t, we probably wouldn’t’a even been in the same company.  Once the Army gets a hold of ya, they do what they want.”

“Buck, I know, I just – I hate this.”

“I know.  Look, we got eight hours before I gotta get to the station.  Wha’d’ya wanna do?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?  I know Murph and the others are waiting at Delancey’s.”

“Yeah, I told ‘em we’d be around for a drink or two.  Nice thing about shippin’ out – you don’t gotta pay for your own beer the night before.  Everyone’s handing out free hangovers.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, let’s go.”

“Or we could not.”

“Buck?”

“Wha’d’ya say we stay here instead?  Burn down the moonlight, one last time?”

“Buck.”

“Come on, Stevie, one last time.”

.

“Thought I lost you, Buck.  I thought–”

“I know, shhh, I know.  It’s good, Stevie, all we’re good.”

“Told ya you were takin’ all the stupid with you.”

“Shut up, punk.”

“Jerk.”  And then, “I love you.”

“Stevie…”

“Just, shut up.”

.

“That Peggy, she’s some dame.”

“Isn’t she?  They sure don’t grow ‘em like that in Brooklyn.  I never met anyone like her.”

“No, pal, they sure don’t.  You asked her out?”

“What?  Buck, no.  It’s not – we’re not like that.”

“Stevie, what in the hell is wrong with you?  You gotta – I see the way she looks at you, pal.  A great gal like that don’t come around every day.  She’s gonna say yes, Stevie.  Yes to whatever you ask, if you know what I mean.”

“Buck, I don’t–-Look, I respect her and she’s beautiful, but she’s not – I don’t want that.  With her.”

“What, you’re holding out for something better?  I don’t think you’re gonna find better, Stevie.”

“What if I already did, Buck?”

“Ah, Christ, this again?  Look, I told you—“

“Yeah, I know.  But you’re wrong.  I know what I want.”

“What you want ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.  Look, it was one thing before, we were kids then, Stevie.  But we grew up – too fast and all at once, but we’re here now.  You gotta start thinkin’ about your future.  Captain America can’t be no fairy.”

“Then I won’t be Captain America.  Let ‘em doctor up some other sucker.”

“And here I thought it was my turn to carry all the stupid.”

“Buck–”

“No!  I ain’t doin’ it, Stevie.  I don’t – I’m not lettin’ you throw out your future.  Not on some jerk like me.  You’re gonna get through this damn war and when it’s over, you’re gonna say, ‘Hey, Peggy, how about a dance and maybe spendin’ the rest of your life with me?’ And she’s gonna say yes and you’re gettin’ the Hollywood ending, Steve.  You’re goddamned getting it.”

“And what if I don’t want it?”

“You don’t know what the hell you want.  Look, just, you’re gonna see, Stevie.  It’s for the best.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“Well somebody’s gotta.  You ain’t doin’ such a bang up job of it yourself.”

“Go to hell, Buck.”

“Yeah? I’ll save you a spot.”

.

“Go!  Buck, get out of here!”

“Not without you!”

.

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

.

“I don’t know if I’m worth all of this to you.”

 _(You are worth_ everything _to me.)_

.

Floating, he is floating on the waves, soft and warm, and cold at the same time.  The noise in the background, it’s just noise. Maybe kids playing, some poor mother screaming for her kid to come back in, don’t go out so far.  Maybe a radio playing? Yeah, he always did like that song.

If he tilts his head just right, half of the sound will go away, replaced with the quiet rhythm of the tide.  The earth’s heartbeat, his Ma had called it. He could open one eye and see Bucky there beside him, floating on the waves beside him, freckled nose and blue eyes, if he just turns his head….

“Well hello there, sleeping beauty.”

“Buck?”

“Thought I told you not to do anything stupid while I was gone.” His hair’s pulled back, away from his face, but the smile, boy that smile is just the same: a little bit of smart ass and a little bit of aw, shucks.

A shiver runs through Steve, makes him tremble for a solid minute, there against clean, warm sheets.

“That’s the cryo wearing off.  Christ, c’mere.”

And the Bucky’s wrapped around him, warm and god, god, the way he smells, different soap but it’s still him underneath all that, still Bucky and Steve buries his nose in Bucky’s neck and breathes through the tremors.

“Christ, Stevie, when you weren’t there when I woke up, when they told me, I thought – I thought–”

But before he can say what he thought, Bucky is pressing kisses to Steve’s face, pressing them to his mouth and smearing warm, salty tears all over Steve’s skin.

_(Who’s crying?)_

_(Doesn’t matter.)_

“Why are you here?”

Bucky pulls back, looks at him.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean why are you–”  Steve’s eyes widen.  “Your arm.”

“You like it?” Bucky asks, and sits back, holding it out for Steve’s perusal.

“T’Challa?”

“Nah, Tony Stark, if you can believe it.”

Steve’s eyes go comically wide.  “Is it gonna blow up?”

“You’re funny.  But yeah, that’s what I asked, too.”

“I just can’t – why would he do that?”

“Yeah, I asked him - said he owed a friend a favor.”

Steve held up his hands.  “Don’t look at me.  I didn’t ask.  I didn’t say a word.”

Bucky gives him a side-eyed grin.  “What, you were gonna leave me in cryo forever?”

Steve shrugs, then moves to sit up. The sheet falls from his chest and pools around his waist.  He knows the room is warm but he shivers again, just the same.

“Stevie, you gotta,” Bucky starts, and then reaches for Steve.  “You’re too cold, just yet.  It takes a little while.”  Bucky climbs onto his lap, wraps his arms back around Steve.

Steve allows it, even lays his face against Bucky’s shoulder, but doesn’t return the embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says.  “I know this was bad for you, and I’m sorry.  I just, I couldn’t–”

Steve feels the churn in his stomach, the tightness in his chest.  “Let me up, Buck.”

Bucky scrambles away from him like he’s been burned.  There’s something significant there, but Steve can’t think about it right now.

He crosses to the dresser; they’re back in in his old rooms in the Wakanda palace, and he’s sure somehow that all his old clothes are there as well.  He pulls on a t-shirt and then a hooded sweatshirt.  Jeans, socks.  He finds boots in the closet.

As he puts on his shoes, he hears Bucky moving behind him, putting on his own clothes from the sound of it.  A tremor shoots through him.  He doesn’t try to hide it.

As he approaches the door, Bucky grabs his wrist, tugs him to a halt.  Steve won’t meet his eyes.

“I couldn’t be anybody’s weapon, Stevie.  Not anymore.”

Steve chews the inside of his lip, nods.  “I know that, Buck.”

He takes back his wrist and leaves.

.

The kitchens are large and bright.  Steve finds what he’s looking for – milk, cocoa powder, sugar and salt, and mixes everything together.  He’s always liked the simple task of cooking something.  He can be busy, mindless.

He’s not surprised when Nat hoists herself up on one of the counters, and asks if he’s made enough for two.

He pours her a mug and waits.

“Pepper got him a trial in absentia.  He’s been cleared of all charges.  He can go home now.  And Wanda, she had some ideas about how to find the triggers and eliminate them.  They’ve been working at it for a few weeks.  Steve, it’s – it’s what you wanted.”

“Is it?”

“It’s not?”

“How the hell would you know?  I don’t recall us having any heart to hearts on what might make Steve Rogers happy, Nat.”

“Tasha,” Bucky says, from somewhere over Steve’s left shoulder.  “Devochka moya, let me.”

Steve huffs a laugh, tastes the bitterness, decides he likes the flavor.

Natasha leaves, taking her mug of cocoa with her.  Steve leans against the counter and waits.

Bucky doesn’t waste any time.  He takes the pan of cocoa and pours it out, then takes the mug from Steve’s hand.

“You drink this, you’ll be spewing it back up in less than an hour,” he says, pouring the chocolate down the drain.  He sets a pan of water to heat, then rifles through the pantry.  “You can’t start with rich things like this fresh out of cryo.  You gotta give your body time to adjust.”

He returns with several containers and sets about making something.

“Guess you’d want to know it’s 2016,” Bucky says.  “You were only under a couple of months.  Guess you going into cryo pushed a big red panic button, so folks started getting their shit together in order to get you out.”

Bucky pours something into a pot and stirs in some water.  “By the way, you got a real friend in T’Challa.  Stark and Sam wanted to pull you out of the cryo the same time they got me out.  T’Challa said you’d signed yourself into his care, and that he wouldn’t do it until your conditions were met.  Pal, you shoulda heard the two of them going at it.  You thought Stark was mad at me?  Brother!”

Steve’s not sure what to make of that, of any of this.  He hadn’t expected to come out of cryo so soon _(at all),_ hadn’t expected anyone to care enough about Bucky to make it happen.  It’s unsettling, being back among the living again.

A few minutes later, Bucky sets a place at the staff table and motions Steve to sit.  “Sit down before you fall down, Rogers.  When they pulled you out of the ice, they kept you in a coma for a few weeks, got you stable and you slept through the worst of the sickness.  This time, they just brought you out. You’re gonna–”

A tremor rips through Steve and he hits the floor, his body shaking.  The tremors come from the pit of his stomach, racing across his back, shredding him with their power.  He’s gulping for air and then Bucky is there, wrapped up behind him, holding him through it.

“Hell,” Bucky says.  “You got ‘em bad, killer.  Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

“B-Buck,” Steve gasps.

“I know, Stevie.  I’ve got you.”

And he does.  Bucky picks Steve up, his forearms under Steve’s butt, hoisting him through the halls and towards Steve’s room.

“Try to hold on, will you pal?  You ain’t no ninety pound kid no more.”

Steve shivers helplessly against him.  He has enough awareness to clock Bucky easing him into bed, stuffing heat packs up under Steve’s armpits and then sliding into bed behind him, blanketing him with his body, like he’d done when they were kids.

.

When he comes to again, the room is still and warm.  He can feel sweat forming at his hairline, a little bit at the tops of his thighs and at the center of his chest.

“Christ you’re a furnace,” Bucky says, then squeezes him and scoots away, but keeps a hand on Steve’s arm.  “I know you’re sore at me, and I don’t mean to crowd you, but I ain’t lettin’ you go, Stevie.  Not now.”

It hits Steve in the gut, that Bucky can even presume to know his place in Steve’s life.  Steve pushes Bucky away, and stands.  Bucky stands as well, making to crowd into Steve’s space, before Steve holds out a hand to stay him.

“Not now?  I chased down every damn lead for two years—”

“I know that, Stevie, you don’t think I know—”

“I dragged Sam halfway across the damn world—”

“You gotta know I’m grateful—”

“He had a job – he had a career—”

“He told me that, we talked—”

“And for two years you couldn’t let me—”

“Christ, don’t you think I wanted—”

“I don’t care what you wanted!”  Steve doesn’t mean to do it, he really doesn’t.  But he can’t take it anymore, he can’t.  Bucky takes the first blow right on the chin, like he didn’t see it coming, which is crazy because he has always seen it coming.

He blocks the next blow and the one after that.  He moves to sweep Steve’s legs and Steve jumps, comes back down all elbows and fists.

“You think you can—”

“You have no idea—”

Bucky’s behind him now, writhing against him trying to get him into a choke hold and Steve is fighting like his life is on the line because, no, this is not, is not going to happen.  He’s bigger, he’s stronger and—

“Goddamnit, Buck, give.”

“Yeah?  You first, pal.  I deserved—”

“I’m not giving–”

“—that first one, but I’m not—”

“Not that kid anymore—“

“You don’t say.  I got ya, Stevie.”

And he does, he fucking does. Bucky has him in check and there’s nothing he can do, no way to escape the way he’s pinned, his face in the carpet and Bucky heavy on top of him, arm around his throat and legs laced with Steve’s.

Steve lets his body relax and Bucky lets go, so Steve’s feint pays off.  He turns and wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist, reaching out for his arms, trying to pin him, needing to be bigger, better, needing to prove—

Bucky twists and Steve is on his back, Bucky’s legs and hips pinning Steve’s, his arms stretching to pin Steve’s above his head.  Bucky gathers both of Steve’s wrists in his metal hand and looks down on him with dim amusement.  Steve can feel Bucky’s breath across his face.

It’s too much, the anger and shame burn through him and he lifts his head, bringing his mouth hard against Bucky’s, licking and biting against Bucky’s lips.

Bucky makes a small, startled sound and opens, and then Steve is pinned in an entirely different way, with Bucky plying him with hot, hungry kisses, his whole body pressed against Steve, Bucky’s free hand hitching Steve’s thigh up higher, his fingers digging beneath Steve’s shirt, skimming over his side, up his chest, scratching blunt nails against Steve’s skin.

“Christ, Stevie, Christ,” Bucky says, his mouth hot and hard against Steve’s neck, tugging down his shirt collar before releasing Steve’s hands and rearing up to rip it open, placing biting kisses across Steve’s chest.

“Yes,” Steve groans.  “Yes, yes, please, anything, yes.”

Bucky grinds his hips against Steve’s and Steve feels it, feels him, hot and hard and oh, god, he’s been waiting for so long.

_(It’s been so long, so long)._

Peggy.

The grief wells up inside of him again, not just for her but for all of it, all of them.

“No, no – stop – Buck, stop!”

Bucky’s off him like a shot.  Steve wants to chase the contact, and feels sick at himself for wanting it.

He pulls himself up, leans against the bed, legs drawn up, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.  Bucky mirrors him up against the opposite wall.

“Shit,” Bucky says.

“Yeah.”

“I’m – you gotta know, I mean, Christ, Stevie, you think I didn’t want you?  You think I didn’t spend every goddamned day trying to get my head together enough to get back to you?  You know what it was like, staring down the scope at you in Sokovia, trying to decide if you were my mission or not?  And you and Sam holed up in that shitty–”

“Wait, you were–”

“motel at the Grand fucking Canyon and trying to figure out if you two were screwing, and not tearing his fucking arms off for touching you?  You know–”

“Sam?  We never–”

“And tracking you across Europe, and then you spent six damn months in that shitty apartment in Brooklyn, you know what that was like for me, when all I wanted to do was get to you–”

“Buck,”

“and touch you and – and- and- have you.  Christ.”  

Steve’s panting, reeling.

“You were in Brooklyn?”

“425 Park Street, Apartment 3G.  Still looks out over the alleyway, only the building next door is a bakery and some fancy loft apartments.  You know how much security they had on you there?”

“It wasn’t that much.”

“Buddy, the President’s got better detail, but only just.”  Steve works through it in his head.  There was something…a coffee cup.

“That was you – the coffee cups in the sink.  God, I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Yeah, I just needed to…” And Steve wonders what he’d needed, because he thinks he knows, but does he really?

“Buck, why’d you make me hunt you down in Bucharest?  Why’d you fight me?”

Bucky leans back against the bed, rests his head against the mattress.

“Aw, come on, Stevie, you saw how it went.  The second they got their hands on me they were trying to trigger that damn conditioning.  You know, they couldn’t wipe it all out – they couldn’t take my memories.  They had to put everything else on top, try to make their mission bigger than me.  I didn’t want to be around you until I knew I had that part of it under lock.”

“You should have let me help.  You’re my friend.”

Bucky reaches out, puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder.  “You’re my best friend.  And this ain’t the end of the line.”

“ _What?_ ”

“What, all of a sudden I don’t know you?  I know how you think, Stevie.”

Steve stares at him, into those eyes.  “Buck,” he says.  He doesn’t know what else to say and Bucky’s name is his touchstone.

“You promise not to slug me again, I’ll make you some food.  You gotta be starvin’,” He says, and stands.

Steve takes his hand and lets Bucky help him up.  When he’s got his feet under him, Bucky tugs him closer, and Steve goes.  He lets Bucky wrap his arms around Steve, and Steve presses his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

“I’m still mad at you,” Steve says, but god, it’s so good to feel Bucky again.

“I know, just–”

“Yeah.”  He lets himself be held until Bucky starts to feel too much like home and Steve’s not sure if he’s ready for that, so he pushes Bucky away.

“I’m gonna go get you something to eat.  You just sit tight, okay?”

Steve nods.  “Think I’m gonna hit the shower.”

“Good plan.  Hey, Sam, the others, they’re all dying to see you.  Can I send any of ‘em in?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say yes, but then he thinks about Sam’s smile, and how all Steve had done was left him a letter and Harley, and it’s suddenly all too much.

He sits, falls, back onto the bed.

“I’m takin’ that as a no.”

Steve turns onto his side, curls in on himself.  He feels the bed dip as Bucky sits beside him.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, but no one’s really mad at you, you know?  I mean, they’re plenty mad, especially Nat, but no one’s holding a grudge on it.”

“Get out,” Steve says, his voice thick.  “Just, just go.”

“Stevie–”

Steve turns on him then, furious all over again, blinking back hot tears that feel like they’re coming out of nowhere.  “I swear to god, Buck, if you don’t get out of here right now – just – please.  Leave.”

Bucky deflates, all the good humor gone from his eyes, and Steve feels like he’s just kicked a puppy.

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I’m gonna send some food up though.  You gotta eat.”

Steve curls back over, into himself, and Bucky leaves the room.

.

He spends days in his rooms.  He doesn’t answer when people knock on the door, though someone shows up regularly with food.  Whoever it is announces themselves with a quick, three-knock rap, opens the door, sets a tray on the small table in the sitting area, takes the previous tray away, and leaves again.  It’s gotten to the point that Steve hardly hears the knock.  He spends most of his time in bed.

What he does hear are the knocks from everyone else.  The quiet “Steve?” that each of them asks, but so far, they’re respecting his privacy and leaving him be.

So when he hears the familiar, three tap knock, he turns over to go back to sleep.  It’s not until he feels the bed dip that he starts, aware that someone is in his space for the first time in a week.

“Steve?” He hears Wanda’s soft lilt and groans.  Of everyone they could have sent, she’s the only one he can’t send away.

He twists around to look at her where she sits on the other side of the bed. Her red hair hangs long around her shoulders, down the tops of her arms.  She is looking at him with wide-eyed concern that hurts to see.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.  “For what happened.  I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she says.  “Not even Hawkeye could have seen that coming.  Neither of us could have known what would happen.”

Steve feels the smile flutter somewhere behind his ribs, but it doesn’t make it to his face.

“Is – how is everyone?”

“You could see for yourself.  I think they are more patient.  I could not wait any longer.”

Steve reaches for her hand, remembers what happened the last time, and pulls back.

“No,” she says, taking his large hand in both of hers. He shivers and curls in on himself a little more, but lets her keep his hand.

They sit quietly and Steve starts to relax.  Maybe he could see the others if they would be like this – quiet and still.  He would like to see Sam.

“You have not asked me about him,” Wanda says, and Steve starts.  Why would he ask her about Sam? He blinks, and realizes what she means.

“He is worried for you,” she says, and a chagrinned smile flits across her face.  “I cannot take away his conditioning without seeing everything inside of him.  Don’t worry,” she says, as he blushes.  “I do not look at what I do not need to see.”

Wanda lets go of his hand and summons a small red ball between her fingers.  “Can I show you something?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“It is safe.  I promise.”  She smiles a little then, and Steve finds he wants to see it.  She has always been so eager – to learn, to help.  Steve feels the affection he holds for her wash over him, and wants her to succeed in every way.

He nods.  “Okay.”

She curls her fingers and the ball comes toward him.  “You are both much alike,” she says.  “When you look at each other, you both see the same way.”

Wanda’s ball reaches Steve and he feels it wash over him.  He’s looking at himself, feeling the urge to fight, to kill, but then it recedes.  No, he chases it away.  He fights it.  Then he sees himself as he was before the serum, but better somehow.  Instead of scrawny, he is lithe.  His nose is still a little big for his face, but his eyes are the prettiest blue he’s ever seen, and his skin, everything about him, takes on faint, golden sheen.  He’s beautiful, in a way that he knows – knows – isn’t real.

He blinks and sees himself again, big this time, when he’d rescued Bucky during the war.  There aren’t wings on his back or a halo above his head, but the angelic looks is there all the same.  No one of this earth can be that perfect.

And then there is a montage of himself, seen through Bucky’s eyes, during the war.  He is larger than life (literally, he is taller and bigger by half than almost everyone else), and defeats all of their enemies almost single-handedly.  Steve almost laughs at the caricature, but it isn’t meant to be funny.

Then he sees himself on the causeway, the helicarrier.  He is more of a man in these images, but he is still beautiful in a way that Steve knows isn’t real.  He is more graceful, and a more fierce combatant, and there is something that comes across, a feeling that wasn’t there with the other images.  A sense of home.  It’s almost devastating.

Something switches, and he sees Bucky, sees him the way he always has – breathtakingly beautiful.  He sees him in the pre-war days, the dazzling glow of youth about him, standing in work pants with a thin, sleeveless undershirt on, giving Steve that cocky half-grin around a cigarette.  The image morphs to Bucky fighting beside Steve during the war, fearless and fierce, even when the odds were against them.  And then he sees the Winter Soldier – painfully sexy in his tac gear, lethal and vicious in a way that makes Steve want to drop to his knees and beg for mercy, even as he knows he has to fight.  And then he sees Bucky the way he is now: beautiful, sexy, with something a little cruel around his mouth and eyes, but someone Steve longs for nonetheless.

The images flip and it takes him a moment, but Steve realizes that Wanda is showing Steve how others see Bucky – Nat sees him as beautiful, but not quite as handsome as Steve does.  Sam’s version is grudging respect and villainy, Wanda’s is caught somewhere in between.

Wanda releases the vision and the images fall away.

“You and him, you see each other the same way.  You do not look with your eyes.  It is a gift, I think.”

Steve swallows.  “Thank you, Wanda.”

She smiles and pats his hand.  “What are friends for?  As for your other questions, you will have to ask him yourself.”

.

“I’m sorry.”  They’re the first words out of his mouth when he opens the door and sees Sam standing there.

Sam rolls his eyes and pushes past him.  “Man, it’s a nice ride, and I’m sure it listens real well, but it’s a shitty consolation prize, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.  Sam, I’m so sorry.”

“You back to stay?”

Steve nods, slow.  “Yeah.  Yes.  I can’t go back to that again.”

“Okay, so we’re done with that then.  You wanna talk about it?”

Steve opens his mouth to say no, but finds something else pouring out instead.

“I’m so angry with him,” he says.  “I’m so mad, and it’s not fair.  I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got an overdeveloped sense of fairness?”

Steve cocks a brow at him.

“Alright, we’ve agreed that I am not your therapist, yes?”

Steve nods.

“So, as your friend, I am telling you that it’s okay to feel whatever way you’re feeling.  What counts is how you act on those feelings.”

“God, it’s good to see you.”

Sam smiles his Sam smile, and Steve feels a little of the weight lift from his chest.

.

The weight lifts further when Nat comes to visit.  She brings him tea cakes and a hug, and tells him to fuck off three times, only two of which make him blush.

“Let’s take a walk,” she says.

He demurs.

“Well,” she says, looking around his room as she stands to leave, “it’s roomier than a cryo tank, I’ll give you that.”

“Nat,” he says, his voice pleading.

“Come on, Rogers.  I get to be a little mad at you.”

“Sometimes I think you liked me better when I still called you ma’am.”

“I didn’t.”

Steve nods, takes a minute to stare at his shoes.

“Kill anything good while I was gone?” He asks.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

By the time Nat leaves, they’re laughing, and the smile that starts with her mouth actually reaches her eyes.  Steve counts it as a win.

.

Tony doesn’t visit.  Steve gets it, he does.  He’s grateful that Tony left the shield behind (he found it at the back of his closet and was fully unprepared for the rush of gratitude he felt on holding it again).  If he’d thought he was done with Captain America, well, he was wrong.

Which makes him wonder if he might be wrong about some other things, which makes the weight on his chest double.  He puts the shield back in his closet and closes the door.

.

Wanda visits and they eat sandwiches at his small table.  She tells him that Clint bought a boat and has invited them all to come waterskiing.  She tells him that Pepper has planted something called miracle berries, and that he has to try one and, no, she won’t tell him what they’re like.  She smothers a laugh behind her hand as she says it, and Steve almost yearns to see Pepper’s face, with her kind eyes and easy smile.  He tells Wanda that he’ll think about it, and he almost means it.

“How is he?”

Wanda makes a face.

“You can ask him yourself, you know.”

Steve hangs his head and picks at his sandwich.  “I know.”

.

“C’mon, man,” Sam says when Steve opens his door.  “We’re getting the fuck out of here before you die of a vitamin D deficiency.”

“That’s not a thing,” Steve says.

“You’d be surprised.  Seriously though, we’re getting your old ass outside.”

“Sam.”  But Sam just looks at him with one brow arched and Steve’s shoulders slump because Sam has never said no to him, so, as Nat would say, Steve’s got red in his ledger.  He grabs a light jacket, laces his boots and lets Sam lead him out.

The air warm and fragranced with something sweet and spicy.  Steve breathes deep and closes his eyes, lifts his face to the sun.

“It’s alive,” Sam says, in a corny voice and Steve grins at the fact that there’s one more reference he’s not getting.  “Frankenstein,” Sam says, when he sees the quizzical look on Steve’s face.

“Oh.  That’s already on the list.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

Steve spends the first twenty minutes outside jumping at shadows.  Sam finally says, “He’s out on a fishing boat.  You can relax.”  And Steve does.

As they wrap up their walk, Sam tells Steve that he took the Harley in for regular maintenance.

“Thanks?”

“If you let the regular maintenance on a car go for too long, a little thing, like an oil change, becomes a big thing, like a new transmission.”

“The Harley doesn’t have–”

“It’s a metaphor, grandpa.”

Steve grimaces.  As expressions go, he’s getting good at that one.

.

Steve leaves his rooms every day for a week.  He walks outside in the sunlight, tipping his face to the sky to savor the sun on his skin.  He doesn’t search for Bucky in every shadow and around every corner.  Only two of those things are actually true.

.

After nine days of leaving his rooms regularly and going outside, Steve comes to a couple of conclusions:

One: Going back to cryo is not an option.  Cryo is fucking awful, and whatever Nick had done to protect him from the after-effects of being in the ice all those years was a kindness.  Steve sometimes wakes up wracked with shivers, from dreams of the entire world frosting over, turning icy blue. Some days he feels he might never be warm again.

Two:  James Buchanan Barnes is a terrible best friend.  Steve was willing to give up his damn identity if it meant getting his friend back, and that Bucky didn’t feel the same was possibly worse than the post-cryo shakes and the new nightmares that came with them.

Three: Regardless of the above, Bucky Barnes is now, and will forever be, Steve’s home.

It’s that last one that was both unexpected and the most logical.  He’d loved Peg, loved what she stood for, and loved that when she looked at him, she saw him as his best possible self.  But she wasn’t home.  She’d never known his temper, how a single bright spark could become an inferno until someone _(Bucky)_ talked him down.  She hadn’t known his love either, though he knew they’d both considered that option.  He could have made a life with her, he knew that.  It would have been a good life, too.  Family, probably.  She’d gone on to form Shield, and he would have been by her side for that.  They would have been equals.  But he’d never felt that spark for her, that fire.  He’d never looked at her thought, _yeah, I would burn the world down if it meant she’d turn that smile on me.  That’s_ reasonable.

So while he could have had a life with her, she had never been his home.  And Bucky…Bucky has always been his home.  More than.  Bucky had been his true north since about the first time he’d stood up for Steve, and that feeling had only grown with their friendship.  His Ma saw it, saw how bright Steve burned for Bucky, had cautioned him one cold afternoon from her hospital bed.

“It’s not what I’d have chosen for you,” she said, and shushed him as he tried to refute her.  “Now you listen.  You pick the path of most resistance.  It was your Daddy’s way and now it’s yours.  It’s not what I would have chosen for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m disappointed.  When you love someone, when you love them for who they are and not for who you want them to be.  That’s the greatest gift one person can give another.  That’s what I have to give you Steven.  I know it’s not enough—”

“Ma—”

“I know it’s not enough, but it’s what I have to give you.  And it’s what you have to give him.  It might be the only thing he ever takes from you, and if that’s so, then it’ll be enough.  If that’s how it goes, you can’t take it hard, baby, even though you’ll want to.  It’s not something you can fight either.  Remember that for me, will you, son?”

“I promise, Ma.  I promise.”

She’d been gone only a few days later, and Bucky had moved in with Steve a week after that.

A hot lick of shame bolts through Steve as he remembers her words and the promise that he made.  Whatever he’s been doing here, one thing is clear:  Steve Rogers is a terrible best friend.

.

Steve takes some time to stop by his rooms.  He wants to be sure he’s steady before he searches for Bucky.  He won’t make the same mistake twice.

When he’s sure he has a hold on himself, he opens the door to track down his friend.

“Pick one,” Bucky says, as Steve startles back from the door.

He’s got a pair of boxing gloves in one hand, and a tray with coffee and sandwiches in the other.

“We’re either duking this out or talking this out, but one way or another, we’re getting past this today, Rogers.  Enough’s enough.”

Steve goggles and Bucky stands taller.  “C’mon, Stevie, I don’t wanna make you bleed again.”

Steve smiles and opens the door wider.

“You’re right, Buck.  Enough’s enough.”

.

They talk through the afternoon and into the evening.  When they bring Steve his dinner tray, there’s enough for two, and the pair of them take turns digging into the rich, spicy beef dish, sopping up the sauce with yeasty, spongy bread.

“I’m sorry,” they both say, a couple of different times.

“I missed you,” Steve says.

“I couldn’t hurt you again,” Bucky says.  “I couldn’t let myself.”

“I wish,” they both say, again and again and again.

“I should have noticed,” Steve says, because all he can think about are the things he didn’t see before Bucky fell.

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” Bucky says, and Steve reaches for his hand.  Steve could have been happy with Peg, if he’d never known Bucky.  But if he’d never known Bucky, he wouldn’t even be Steve.

“Can I?” Steve asks, and leans across the table, fingers stroking the scruff of Bucky’s jaw.

“Stevie,” Bucky says, because that’s all there is that’s left to say.

It starts out slow.  Soft kisses across the table, then a tug on Steve’s shirt and he’s in Bucky’s lap, holding Bucky’s head in his hands, kissing him like he’s been waiting years and years _(forever; it’s been forever)_ to do it.  And it’s just that, for so long.  Slow, tender kisses as they remember how the other tastes, remember what it’s like breathe the same breath, needing the moment to never, ever end.

They kiss until “yes” becomes “please,” and then Steve stands, takes Bucky by the wrist, and brings him to Steve’s bed, where they move slow and soft until they move hard and frantic, tearing at each other’s clothes (literally tearing) and then laughing at their new desperation, even as they groan their pleasure.

“Stevie, please,” Bucky says, when Steve takes too long to prep him.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve whispers, because, was it always this good?

“How did I forget?” they groan, their movements frantic then stilling, then frantic all over again, desperation mixed with laughter, as Bucky says “You too?”

 “I love you,” they whisper, as dawn creeps forward, and they look at each other like they’re brand new.

Finally, there is nothing left of fear or pain or doubt.  They have washed up on the shore of each other, and they make a new home there, steady and sure, with a foundation built of nothing less than the certainty that the other is everything that is necessary, in this world, or any other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for the warm reception for my previous Bucky/Steve/Sam doodles. This is such an amazing fandom! Thank you!! :)
> 
> IDK how tumblr works, but I'm there under chickalicious. It's pretty much just pretty pix of Stucky with the occasional ramble.


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